


Carry Me Anew

by lettertoelise



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, F/M, Jemma and Bobbi are sisters, Mental Instability, Multiverse, Reference to a Mental Breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 21:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5642635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettertoelise/pseuds/lettertoelise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma has been dreaming of Fitz her whole life - except for now she isn't.  </p><p>A companion piece to "Close your eyes and look at me" for AgentsofSuperwholocked investigating what happens before, and how her sister, Bobbi, helps bring her back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lilsciencequeen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilsciencequeen/gifts).



> This fic is for AgentsofSuperwholocked who was so incredibly supportive of "Close your eyes and look at me" and asked me to write about what happened before, when Jemma dreamed of the blue planet. 
> 
> I've planned three chapters and hope to update once a week *fingers crossed* 
> 
> I hope you like it!

Jemma slid out of bed, toes curling against the cold wood floor, and she rose, pulling her robe tightly around her shoulders.  The stillness of 3am had settled into the corners of the apartment, every creak of the floorboards beneath her shuffling feet ringing at a thousand decibels against the quiet.  

 

The weight of her dream lingered in her memory as she sipped her tea.  It was dangerous to hold on to them, to savor a reality that wasn’t hers.  It was a game she’d been playing for far too long.  As soon as her eyes rolled back and the soft blanket of sleep enveloped her, she would find herself somewhere else, another universe?  another timeline?  She could never know for sure.  The only certainty was that  _ he _ would be there.  Fitz.  Sometimes a friend, occasionally an enemy, but always her first love, he was there, living in her dreams, but destined never to be her reality.  

 

Wrapping her arms around her shoulders, Jemma sighed.  Sometimes it was better not to dream at all.  Teacup emptied, Jemma fumbled through the cabinet in search of the slender orange bottle of her prescription.  Upon locating it,  she popped two of the large blue pills into her mouth and padded back to huddle under cold sheets.    

 

***

 

_ He was staring at her over the edge of his book, blue eyes flitting away as soon as she’d caught them.  The Metro was crowded, smelling of hot metal and sweat, and Jemma flinched at the unpleasant sensation of the large man at her side, pressing into her forcibly at every stop.  She tried to brace herself against his momentum by tightening her grip on the bar overhead, but her efforts were not enough to compete with the girth and velocity of her neighbor. _

 

_ Fitz stood up and Jemma drew a breath as he suddenly entered her space and gestured to his now empty seat.  His proximity left her dizzy with the smell of him, always the same, yet always different.   _

 

_ “Take it,” he implored with a kind smile.   _

 

_ “But - are you quite sure?  You don’t even know me.”  She felt herself reply nervously, sweeping a stray hair behind her ears.  Jemma loved these fresh starts, the dreams where they’d only just met, teasing one another with shy glances and toothy grins. _

 

_ His smile widened, “You can make it up to me over a drink, yeah?” _

 

_ Jemma scoffed, surprised, and sat down, face warming in the light of his boldness.  This was different.  But she did give him her number. _

 

_ 11 February, Cheeky Fitz - first smiles on the subway  1x _

 

***

 

The small dining room was full with the metallic scrape of cutlery colliding, words hiding behind mouths dutifully occupied.  Jemma had managed to poke at her food more than eat it and when her mother had finally laid her fork to rest, she was staring at her daughter with a maternal eyebrow raised.  

 

“What’s on your mind, dear?” she asked.  Jemma felt her face freeze into a disingenuous smile as she looked up from her plate.  

 

“Nothing.  I’m just not very hungry tonight, is all.  I think I might be fighting off a bit of a cold.”

 

Mrs. Simmons seemed satisfied with this response and almost turned back to the task at hand before adding, “Have you talked to your sister recently?”

 

Jemma’s smile turned real.  “Yes!  She did want to come tonight, but you know Bobbi, she works too hard and couldn’t get away.”

 

Her mother tsked in understanding, her father simply nodding as he wrestled a knife through his meat.  

 

It hadn’t always been this way - conversations filled with superficial smiles and empty exchanges.  Before the worry had crept across her mother’s brow, leaving behind it’s spidery imprint, Jemma remembered the laughter.  Her mother had loved to watch her paint, erupting into giggles when Jemma would mischievously made herself into the canvas, the color sneaking throughout her hair and across her cheeks.  She’d been so proud the first time Jemma’s art had been featured in the school exhibition she had gone out and bought her daughter all the paint a young girl could ever use.  

 

But slowly the worry beat out the joy, living in the new silence that grew between them.  Jemma’s mother was afraid to ask and Jemma was afraid to tell her, how little progress was being made, how the dreams never truly left, how his face etched in her memory, and how every morning she found herself disappointed she’d woken up.  

 

But the silence was better than the fighting.  Somehow they’d all secretly agreed if they just pretended hard enough, Jemma would get better.  They all skirted around the questions they knew were too painful to ask and lived life on the surface.  Except Bobbi.

 

***

 

_ Wherever she was, it was nighttime and she was scared.  Why she found herself in some sort of desert, alone, no shelter or supplies, Jemma couldn’t explain.   _

 

_ She lowered herself, ending up cross-legged in the dirt, waiting.  Fitz would find her.  He always did.   _

 

_ Jemma shuffled through her interior catalogue of his faces, the ones worn with age, the ones shy and nervous with the blush of his youth, so different, yet all undeniably him.  She wondered which one she might expect. _

 

_ But there was only the wind.  And the sand.  And then came hunger.  Jemma thought she might wander, hopefully stumble across something helpful, but there was nothing to break the monotony of dry brown earth.   _

 

_ Be strong Jemma.  He’ll come.   _

 

_ 13 February.  Blue Planet.  Waiting for Fitz.  1x _

  
  


_ *** _

 

Jemma awoke with a headache, eyes protesting the intensity of the morning sunlight and her arm struck out to pull the shade down over the window.  

 

Her eyelids slid roughly down and she pressed at the throbbing pain just to the side of her eyebrow before finally rising from her bed.  Jemma’s body was sore as though it remembered the harsh landscape of her dream, but she shook it off as she climbed into the shower and released into the warmth of the water on her skin.  

 

Somehow she could not bring herself to focus, all artistic progress halted by the pulsing in her head and its anger at the intruding daylight.

 

***

 

_ Still here.  Enveloped in darkness.  Even the stars provided unpredictable company.  The hunger had faded to a dull ache in her stomach, leaving her lightheaded, only compounded by the accompanying dehydration.   _

 

_ “Ok, Fitz,” she began, continuing her ongoing dialogue with the emptiness he was supposed to fill, “I’m going to need to find some water.” _

 

_ She found herself wandering, pummeled by the ever constant wind, fighting against the sand dunes that never failed to pull her down with every step.   _

 

_ It seemed like an eternity of going nowhere, every landscape identical, until she spotted it - a small pond?  With her last reaches of strength, Jemma pulled herself forward, collapsing at the edge of the murky pool and dunked her face in, slurping greedily.   _

 

_ Satisfied and exhausted she rolled onto her back, the rise and fall of her chest nearly invisible in the darkness.  He’d be here soon, she told herself.  Just keep fighting.   _

 

_ 23 February.  Blue Planet.  Waiting for Fitz.  10x _

 

_ *** _

 

Bobbi’s eyes fixed on her from across Jemma’s small living room.  Blonde waves cascaded across her shoulders in the way it only manages for the effortlessly beautiful, her expression a mixture of concern and her usual good-natured big-sister badgering.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.  Jemma sighed and shifted her weight against the coffee table where the majority of her Thai carry out lay uneaten.  

 

“Not really,” she mumbled in response.  In Jemma’s world of careful conversations she’d always skirted around the edges of friendships, fearing the moment when they would notice she was different.  She’d kept an arm’s length between herself and her peers,  but Bobbi had always seen through her from the first.  

 

Four years older than Jemma she carried with her the authority of her advanced age, drawing her younger sister into the comfort of her broader experience.  It was Bobbi who’d always heard Jemma crying in her sleep and who’d crawled into the bed beside her, wrapping strong arms around heaving shoulders.  It was Bobbi who’d kept Jemma’s secret, who looked at her now with worry blurring the lines of her delicate features.  

 

“I’ve just . . .” Jemma’s voice faltered.  “I’ve been having these dreams.  They’re different from the others and-” She paused. “Fitz is not there.”

 

Bobbi waited for her sister to continue.  She hadn’t failed to notice the angles in Jemma’s face deepening in want of food, how the young woman’s skin had grown dull and begun to embrace the shadows residing beneath her eyes.  

 

“I’m afraid I’ve lost him.  He’s not going to come.”  Jemma whispered.  She’d endured a lifetime of waiting, of stolen moments, waking to the phantom press of his lips against hers, and she’d always woken up alone.  It was almost too much to think the loneliness was determined to permeate both her days and nights.  A hand shot to her temple as Jemma winced painfully and Bobbi swung her legs off the couch to meet her sister on the floor, taking the woman's small hands up in her own.  But Jemma forced a smile.  

 

“Bobbi, stop worrying about me.  Please.” Jemma said, her voice growing firm.  Squeezing Bobbi’s hands gently, she dropped them and let her head roll sleepily to the side.  “I’m sure it will pass.” 

 

“Will you come out with me this weekend?”  Bobbi asked softly.  “Jems, you have barely left your apartment the last few weeks.  I think a change of scenery might be good for you.”

Jemma nodded tentatively, more in resignation than agreement.  If she didn’t concede at least a little, she knew her sister wouldn’t give up until she knew the whole truth.  

It was getting harder to keep herself together, the headaches making the daylight unbearable, food left tasting of chalk on her tongue, robbing her of her appetite.  The more she slept, the worse it became, the dark hell of her dreams bleeding into her waking hours.  Jemma had given in to sleeping only a few hours at a time, thrown awake and disoriented in the middle of the night, unsure where the her nightmare ended and her reality began.  She’d stopped being able to work for any consistent amount of time, her bills lapsing, every day Jemma falling deeper into the sand and darkness.    

 

It was possible Bobbi was right, she needed a change of scenery, something that might distract her, even if only a moment, and Jemma might feel like she was alive again.  

 

***

 

_ Fitz would have been proud of her.  She’d bested the alien plant and started a fire by herself on which to cook it.  His younger selves would have gaped at her in awe, perhaps even slight revulsion, as she tore into a meaty bite off the long stick she’d used to for cooking and let out an enormous belch.  The older Fitz’s, however, would have laughed, arms crossed, eyes twinkling at her triumph, glad enough to be able to witness this brief moment of her success.   _

 

_ She’d stopped looking for him.  As much as she was possessed by the  longing never to be without him, she couldn’t bear the thought of Fitz here, his beloved smile eroded by the sand and endless wind.   _

 

_ Opening a palm to smooth the canvas of earth in front of her, she traced the outline of his jaw into the dirt, working her way to the gentle curve of his nose, his thoughtful eyes.   _

 

_ See, Jemma?  Not alone. _

 

_ 25 March.  Blue Planet.  35x _

  
  


_ *** _

 

The bar was too loud for Jemma, the hum of music and voices vibrating straight to the very core of her.  But Bobbi must have sensed the immediate stiffening of her fragile form and guided Jemma to a table in the back.  

“I’ll get us some drinks but you rest here, okay?” Bobbi said as Jemma slid into her spot and removed her coat.  The place itself was cozy, Jemma could see why Bobbi liked it, the rich wooden tables complemented by the warmth of red walls.  There was a steady stream of people entering, slapping backs in recognition and slowly filtering into all the vacant bar stools and booths.  Bobbi had been held up by the bartender, a jovial looking fellow with a wide smile and an expressive personality.  She was laughing as he handed her the pitcher, hands brushing casually in the exchange.  

 

As her sister returned to the table, Jemma said slyly, “So how long has that been going on?”

 

Bobbi looked up in surprise, first feigning innocence and then breaking into a smile.  “That’s Hunter.  He’s a terrible flirt.  We’ve gone out a couple of times, but nothing I think is going to stick.”  

 

Jemma’s smirk turned into a knowing nod and Bobbi almost giggled before stopping herself.  “What about you?  See any guys here you’d like to buy you a drink?”

 

Jemma didn’t answer, only raising an eyebrow and Bobbi gave up.  “It’s okay.  I suppose tonight is about us girls anyway.”

 

As they fell into  an easy dialogue, alcohol dulling the constant throb at her temple, Jemma almost found herself relaxing.  Almost.  Despite the dim lights and the reassuring pressure of Bobbi’s hand in hers, Jemma could feel the presence of her nightmare just beyond the surface.  Her eyes stung dryly with every blink, her skin sensitive to every whispering movement.  Jemma could feel herself slowly being pulled under.  

 

She excused herself for the washroom and was swept up in a wave of people, pushed carelessly aside as she attempted to navigate her way through the crowd.  Then something at the bar caught her eye.  A slumped figure pulled himself to standing, drawing a worn cardigan off the stool opposite and ran a hand through sandy curls.   _ Could it be _ . . . Jemma blinked roughly, and the vision was gone, a deserted bar stool in it’s place.    

 

Jemma’s chest suddenly felt tight, and, washroom forgotten, she made her way to the rear door and plunged into the cool air beyond.  The light of the streetlamps bounced off slick streets, the wooden sound of footsteps and laughter echoing against the adjacent buildings.  Jemma leaned into the brick wall, breaths coming in labored spurts.  The world was spinning, a blur of black and gold and blue, and Jemma sunk to her knees, instinctively burying her head into her hands.  The darkness was coming for her, the wind pulled at her clothes, the sand burned against her skin.

 

It was over.  Her dreams had always been a mixed blessing, but they’d brought her Fitz.  There was no going back, no finding him.  He was lost.  Jemma’s vision blurred as that foreign place finally swallowed her, her voice escaping as a scream into the night, body curled tight into itself against the gale. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty much all Bobbi/Jemma. Next chapter will have more vignettes with Fitz/Jemma.
> 
> Hope you like it!

_ “Bobbi, look!”  Jemma’s arm was extended to the sky, pale and pink with the roundness of youth.  She was pointing to a cloud enthusiastically.  “It’s an elephant!” _

 

_ Bobbi’s hand darted up to shield her eyes from the encroaching sunlight.  Overhead the clouds were quickly being pulled apart as they swept across the sky, their shapes distorting under the force of the wind.   _

 

_ Too impulsive for blankets, the sisters lay side by side in the grass, giggling with knees bent lazily.  Bobbi brushed at the prick of the sharp blades biting into her skin, watching the four year old’s eyes widen to saucers with her growing enthusiasm. _

 

_ “Oh, Bobbi!  It’s a monkey!”  Jemma shot to her elbows, brown hair stuffed with tangles and leaves.  “Did you know that Fitz loves monkeys?”  She continued with a knowing nod of the head.  “He told me.” _

 

_ Bobbi smiled.  Jemma loved to tell stories.  Her face would light up, arms waving as she mimicked the grown-ups and tried her hand at gesturing.  A few weeks in the summer were all they had, when Bobbi’s mother would finally save enough money to bring her to England for a visit.  And for those few weeks Bobbi was determined to be the best of big sisters. _

 

_ With her father so often at work, Bobbi had grown accustomed to loneliness, even at the young age of eight.  But here, lit by the warmth of Jemma’s bright smile and infectious curiosity, she had found her place.   _

 

_ So she rolled over to shower the young girl with tickles, Jemma’s voice escaping in peals of laughter as her body convulsed.  It was her favorite game.  As soon as Bobbi would stop came Jemma’s small mischievous voice, “Tickle again?”  And Bobbi’s face would split in half under the weight of her grin.   _

 

_ Jemma threw her pudgy arms around the bigger girls shoulders and rested their foreheads together, her expression suddenly serious.  “Bobbi?” she asked. _

 

_ “Yeah?” _

 

_ “I love you.” _

 

***

 

The psych ward was exceptionally unremarkable, the common area was neatly arranged with heavy armchairs and a few solid looking tables.  Everything held the impression of being intentionally muted as though a damper pedal had been applied to muffle all semblance of life.  

 

Bobbi found Jemma curled in the chair closest to the window, eyes vacant under the heavy cloud of her medication.

 

“Hey,” she said in greeting, not surprised by Jemma’s lack of response.  Good were the days her sister even registered her presence.  Bobbi wasn’t about to get greedy.

 

“I’ve brought you something.” Bobbie continued, sliding one of the cumbersome chairs closer.  Jemma wearily turned her head.  Her color was better, a healthy pink slowly blooming under the haze of freckles on her nose, but the shadows under her eyes were stubborn, not yet ready to abandon the angles to which they’d grown accustomed.  

 

It had been three weeks and Jemma was still not allowed to go home, progress being painfully slow.  At first her sister had been entirely reclusive, cringing at the stimulation of physical contact or bright lights.  She was easily disoriented and often confused as though her grasp on reality was fractured, a broken mirror reflecting memories and dreams alike.  

 

Bobbi had waited fifteen minutes for Jemma to return to the table that night at the bar and when she didn’t Bobbi had just  _ known _ .  She’d grabbed both their coats and headed for the rear of the building, barely noticing Hunter at her heels.

 

“Has anyone seen a brown haired girl pass through here?  Average height?  Blue sweater?” Bobbi asked, met only with the shrugging of shoulders and shaking of heads.  Hunter had pushed past her into the alley.

 

“Buddy saw her come out this way,” he called, waving Bobbi over as he paced the pavement anxiously.  There had been no trace of her anywhere, the two running up and down the length of the alley frantically.  “I have to call the police, Hunter, I’m sorry.” Bobbi said finally, her voice small and desperate in her throat.  

 

Somehow she’d expected him to be angry, that she would bring this mess into his bar and then have to call the cops.  Their relationship thus far hadn’t been without it’s own turbulence; Bobbi wasn’t sure how much she could ask of him.  But instead she found Hunter’s arms had come up to wrap around her heaving shoulders and she collapsed with worry.  

 

In the end, it was Hunter who made the phone call and an hour later the police found Jemma huddled on a bench three blocks away, swaying, unable to recognize where she was or who she was with.

 

Bobbi watched at her sister now, the enforced serenity of her expression strangely unsettling as she stared down at the book in her lap.  

 

“Your sketches.”  Bobbie said softly, lifting the cover to reveal the face of a young man with a straight forehead and loose curls.  “To help you remember.”

 

Jemma reached for the book numbly and traced her finger down the spine, turning it over in her hands as though it were a strange artifact.  It had been weeks and Bobbi still hadn’t gotten through to her.  The medication soothed her anxiety and dulled the paranoia, but it left her hollow.  Jemma was empty, seized by whatever had haunted her dreams and hemorrhaged into her waking hours.  She was missing a piece and Bobbi wasn’t enough to fill the space.

 

“Do you remember the summer you gave me this?”

 

Jemma’s eyes lifted and met Bobbi’s blankly.  “Well,” Bobbi continued, “Why don’t I remind you.”

 

***

 

_ Jemma rubbed her tear streaked cheeks furiously and let out an angry sigh.  Bobbi had found her sitting on her bed, a crumpled mess encircled by tissues.  Apparently there had been a fight. Jemma had stormed off, her mother left in the kitchen crying, and Bobbi had been called. _

 

_ “She makes me lie to her and then she acts betrayed when I tell her the truth!” Jemma cried with a helpless wave of her hands. _

 

_ Bobbi smoothed a place on the blanket beside her and sat down only to be tackled a moment later by an assaulting embrace, Jemma’s hot tears soaking into her shirt. _

 

_ “I can’t make him go away, Bobbi,” she whispered raggedly.  Bobbi ran a hand through Jemma’s long waves and wiped the dampness from her cheeks. _

 

_ “I know, sweetie.” she cooed.  Jemma sniffled violently and rubbed a hand roughly across her nose.   _

 

_ “And . . .” she stuttered.  “I’m not sure I want to,” she finished, even softer.   _

 

_ Bobbi sighed and pulled Jemma closer to rest her head on her shoulder. _

 

_ “Then tell me about him.” _

 

_ *** _

 

The first time Jemma smiled again was like the release of a breath Bobbi hadn’t known she’d been holding.  

 

They were in their mother’s kitchen, Bobbi stirring brownie batter under Jemma’s careful supervision.  She’d grown used to their new pattern of comfortable silences and wordless companionship.  Since Jemma had been released from the hospital she spoke less, but her eyes had slowly regained their clarity as she reengaged with the world.  She was even painting again.  

 

It was a slip of the wrist, a misstep, as Bobbi lost control of the spoon, sending a dollop of batter into the air and down onto her nose.  She’d let out a chuckle and looked up to see a smile on her sister’s face, brown eyes twinkling as Jemma reached a thumb to steal the morsel and plunge it into her own mouth.  

  
And they stood there, frozen in that moment, grins suspended until Jemma slipped from her stool and brushed Bobbi aside, taking up the rhythmic churning of the batter herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This one's a bit out of my comfort zone, so I hope it's working for you :)  
> One more chapter to go!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize this is so very long in coming. It's been migraine city over here and my ability to concentrate on anything or finish any sort of project has been totally compromised of late, so I am hoping this final chapter isn't too much of a mess. Thanks so much for sticking with me, though, and I hope you've liked it!

_ Jemma’s eyes fluttered open against the aggression of the morning light.  There was no sand, no wind, just the sun dancing against her bedroom wall, caught and dispersed by the window’s prism to cast it’s cheerful rainbow across the cracked plaster.    _

 

_ Sitting up and rubbing her eyes, Jemma knew this must be a dream.  The room, although warm and cheerful with its flimsy wicker furniture and excessive use of color, was unfamiliar.  The air was warm and welcoming as she cast off the thin sheet and dug her toes into the dusty shag carpet, roused out of bed by the siren song of domesticity, the faint buzz of music and clang of pots.   _

 

_ Pausing in the doorway, Jemma saw him, facing away, hips twitching to whatever reggae beat was on the radio and humming as he carefully flipped something in the cast iron pan.  She stood there for a while, drinking in the sight of his slim figure and reckless curls.  Whatever life they’d built here, this Fitz and his Jemma, was a happy one, full of bold colors and the heavenly scent of pancakes.   _

 

_ When Fitz finally turned around, he smiled to see her watching him - a crooked grin to complement the mischievous twinkle in his eye.   _

 

_ “You sleep ok?” he asked, resting the pan on the stove to wind his arms around her waist and pull her forward for a peck on the lips.   _

 

_ “Yes.  I think I did, actually.”  And for the first time in a long time, Jemma thought it might be true.   _

 

_ Red Kitchen 1x  _

 

***

 

Bobbi leaned back in the chair opposite, long legs challenged to find space under the tiny circular cafe table.  Her eyebrows were raised, arms crossed at her chest, but she was smiling.  This, at least, was a good sign.  

 

“And you think you’re ready?”

 

Jemma nodded.  “You’ve seen my improvement, Bobbi.  What makes you think I’m not?”

 

The two sisters sat in silence for a moment, hands drawn to circle around warm mugs, restless fingers fidgeting with dangling tea bags.  

 

Then Jemma whispered, “I have to try, Bobbi.” - the sentence coming out like the exhale of a long breath.  

 

She’d been out of the hospital for two months now, each day finding a new clarity.  Her dreams of the blue planet were subsiding and Jemma was slowly freeing herself from the pull of its gravity.  She’d begun working again, finding peace in the fluid sweep of her fingers against canvas, she’d even remembered how to smile.  

 

Bobbi slid her hand over the table, finding Jemma’s slender calloused fingers and squeezing them with her own.  “Moving out is just a big step.  I don’t think we should rush anything.”  

 

Bobbi’s grey eyes were soft, her voice steady but tinged with a concern Jemma could easily decipher.  It had been hard on her to stand firm as Jemma crumbled, serving as her beacon in a dark world Jemma could not recognize.  But the confinement of her parent’s house had become oppressive, a new sort of prison. She was tired of hiding.  Jemma returned her sister’s squeeze, grateful for the smile it brought to Bobbi’s lips and struggled to find the words.  

 

“I’m ready.”

 

***

_ “I’m ready!” Jemma was bounding down the stairs, careless of the noise she made as Bobbi chuckled and grabbed the keys to her mother’s old car.  They’d managed to stuff all the necessities for dorm life into Jemma’s black suitcase, electric kettle, fairy lights, and extra towels and now Bobbi watched her little sister say her goodbyes, all kisses and tears.   _

 

_ “I’ll be back for Christmas,” she was whispering to their mother, voice cracking under the tremble of her emotion.  Finally wrestling the suitcase into the back seat, Bobbi took her place behind the wheel, Jemma sliding in beside her, wiping her cheeks with her palm.   _

 

_ They were cracking jokes and playing the music so loudly it spilled from their windows into the street, but when the initial exuberance of their journey stilled, Jemma curled up in the passenger’s seat to hug her knees.  Bobbi could feel the young woman’s apprehension building. _

 

_ “Bobbi?” she asked suddenly, shattering the silence. _

 

_ “Mmm?”  Bobbi sounded, inclining her head to show Jemma she was paying attention.  The bright sun of the day was fading, casting everything in an orange glow as the car continued on it’s track.   _

 

_ “Do you really think I can do this?” _

 

_ Bobbi paused before answering and she could feel Jemma’s soft brown eyes on her, brow nervously gathered as they drew closer to the school that would be her new home.   _

 

_ “Jemma Simmons, I think you can do anything.  And if you can’t, that’s why you’ve got me.”   _

 

***

Bobbi grunted as she dropped the last box down on the counter, surveying the bright sunlit room, full as it was with stacks of plastic tubs and scattered furniture.  Jemma was standing in the center of the storm, hands on her hips, a smile playing at her lips as she stretched her arms out and suddenly spun in a circle.  

 

“It’s going to be perfect!” She was laughing, doubling over to rest her elbows on her knees and catch her breath.  

 

Bobbi grinned, “No celebrating yet.  The work is only half done.  We still have to unpack.”

 

Her words did nothing to dampen Jemma’s spirits, however, as the younger woman stepped over boxes toward the large paned french doors and threw them open to bathe in the sunlight.  It was how Bobbi loved her best, thick with enthusiasm and the adventure of new possibilities.  

 

A melody drifted in on the wind, the percussive strike of a piano, the same five measures on repeat.  Jemma was swaying with the delicate rhythm, eyes sliding shut as she leaned over the railing of the small balcony.  

 

She didn’t seem surprised when Bobbi came up beside her, her eyes still closed, breath coming in small puffs.  “Bobbi?”

 

There was a pause as Bobbi rested her weight on her elbows to meet her sister’s height.  “Mmm?”

  
“I think I’m home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and feedback are SO important to me. They are what help make me a better writer and are a huge source of motivation. ;) 
> 
> So any thoughts you have to share are very much appreciated!


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